Status Updates From The Stories of Paul Bowles

Don Federico danced with Chalía, who was stiff from her morning ride; soon she excused herself and left. Instead of going upstairs to bed she crossed onto the front veranda and sat looking across the vast moonlit clearing. The night was thick with eternity. She could feel it there, just beyond the gate. Only the monotonous, tinkling music kept the house within the confines of time, saved it from being engulfed.

Going to have to come back around to this later, as I need to return it to the library! And only got 1/4 through it. Really really loved the stories I read though. They’re so intense and some are extremely disturbing, and not even in a comedic or smart alec way like Moshfegh or Rick Moody. These are all real dead behind the eyes existential howls. Very unforgettable stuff!